Things To Wear In HotGear
by chelseyelric
Summary: A compilation of long and short, rated K-rated M, well thought out and random HotGear stories all focused around wearable items. I got my model and idea for this from crystallicsky and was introduced to this pairing by sparklinburgndy and C2ndy2c1d. (More info inside)
1. Apron

Hi there! Chelseyelric here with, what I think, is a long overdue contribution to one of my favorite shippings! Have you noticed that there's hardly any HotGear stuff on this site? Well, I hope to remedy that with this. My main inspirations for writing this were crystallicsky, sparklinburgndy and C2ndy2c1d.

At the top of each fic, there will be an article of clothing and a rating. Some of my fics are short and will be put on the same page, but I basically give it it's own page if it contains 500 words or more.

This fic is filled with all sorts of lengths, ratings and genres, but that doesn't change the fact that this is entirely a boy love/ yaoi/ guyxguy/ pairing. If you don't like it, I'm not really sure how you found this but please exit this story.

Please, let me know if there are any articles of clothing/ wearable objects you would like to see me write about, and remember that, though they may not be posted yet/ are in progress, I have many remaining and should update regularly.

Well, enjoy, fave and comment as chelseyelric lives on comments and peanut butter XD~

* * *

(K+)

An incredible aroma slowly woke Virgil Hawkins from a deep sleep one Saturday morning, making his foggy mind confused. He would have assumed that somebody was cooking something next door but it was too strong a smell for that to be true.

7:34am, Virgil's alarm clock read when he turned over to look at it.

What?

His Pops was the only decent cook in the family these days, but he tended to work late Friday nights and sleep in the next morning, leaving his kids with the options of cereal or toaster waffles. Neither of which Virgil could smell now.

His sister…well, he ruled her out immediately. The girl couldn't make ice!

Suddenly too hungry to sleep, the teen threw his comforter back and decided to investigate, yawning and following his nose down the stairs toward the kitchen.

Upon turning the corner from the living room, he was surprised to see the back of his best friend in front of the oven.

"Richie?" he asked.

The blond in question turned at the sound of his name, gently waving the spatula in his hand.

"Hey, Verge. Ya hungry?"

The sound of muffled laughter mixed with the sizzling of bacon on the stovetop. "Dude, what are you wearing?"

Richie looked down at the only thing Virgil could be talking about: Sharon's white, frilly knee length apron with a few spatterings of miscellaneous food stuffs.

"What?" he asked defensively, the start of a blush staining his cheeks. "I needed one and this was all I could find."

"Hey, whatever, man. Not judgin'," he said, raising his hands in surrender and took a noticeable sniff at the air. "Dang, what's that amazing smell?"

Happy to hear the subject change, Richie turned back to the food he'd been slaving over all morning. "I know its kinda weird to make lunch for breakfast," he said, "but my best dish is tomato bacon spaghetti and garlic bread. Thought I'd make it as a thank you for letting me stay the night. Hope you don't mind."

Virgil was practically drooling. "Nah, man. That's cool." He pulled out a chair and had a seat at the table. "So, uh, why _**are **_you here?"

"You know, the usual," Richie replied monotonously, stirring a pot of marinara sauce. "Fight with my dad. Let myself in early this morning. I couldn't sleep, though, so I just started cooking." He turned some dials on the back of the stove.

This random appearance was by no means unusual to Virgil. He knew just how rocky of a relationship Richie had with his old man. The two friends had come to the agreement shortly after the blond ran away from home months ago that, if a fight ever became particularly bad, Richie could come crash at Verge's place, no explanation necessary. However, that didn't keep the teen hero from asking. "What about now?"

Richie snorted to himself in anger. "It was The Big One," he said, mixing the contents of a couple of pots together in a large kettle. The resulting steam created a noticeable fog on his glasses, which he wiped away in mild irritation.

Virgil cringed at the code they'd been using, understanding just how serous this was. "How'd he find out about _**that**_?"

"He went through my phone when I left it on the counter to answer the door," Richie replied in a prickly manner, clearly still upset about the fact that his father had invaded his privacy in such a way.

He darted here and there for a few seconds, grabbing last minute herbs and silverware to finish the dish for Virgil and smiled proudly when it was done.

The blond set a huge piping hot plate of bread and pasta topped with chunks of tomato, bacon and parmesan cheese in front of his very best friend and crime fighting partner.

"Dig in, dude."

Virgil shot a concerned look toward Richie before he gladly pulled the plate closer and picked up the fork that had been stuck into the side of the mound.

"Aren't you gonna have some?" he asked, noticing that his friend pulled up his own seat rather than get some spaghetti for himself.

"Nah. I'm not really hungry."

Virgil could see the worry on his friend's downturned face, probably wondering if he'd ever get to go home. He reached a free hand out to grasp Richie's shoulder in reassurance.

"You gonna be okay? This is pretty serious, isn't it?"

The blond tried to seem nonchalant. "Oh, no. Its fine. I mean, its not like I've ever cared what he thought of me before." He picked distractedly at some frayed cloth on the edge of Sharon's apron.

Virgil could tell just what he was thinking.

"Hey, it'll be okay, Rich. Your dad got…well, he hasn't exactly gotten over his racism, but he's been trying because he loves you. It'll take some time but I'm sure he'll accept you being gay someday."

Richie reluctantly raised his eyes to meet Virgil's. "I hope you're right, Verge. He seemed really…disappointed."

"I usually am," he said with a confident smirk. "And you know you can stay here whenever you need to."

Virgil removed his hand from Richie's sweater and finally took a bite of his spaghetti. A few seconds passed where he just sat still, looking straight ahead, his eyes wide.

"Is it…okay?" Richie nervously questioned, trying to snap his friend out of whatever trance he was currently trapped in.

Virgil slowly turned his head toward Richie and asked something under his breath.

"What, dude?" the blond inquired.

He found his shoulders being suddenly grabbed and shaken, skewing his glasses and forcing a noise of fear and confusion to slip from his throat.

"Where have you been while I was eating Sharon's horrible excuse for food!?" the hero wailed.

In the following minutes, Virgil could have put a competitive eater to shame and Richie couldn't help but chuckle to himself despite his dour mood.

Around a particularly large mouthful, Virgil asked, "How long have you been able to _**cook**_ like this?"

Richie shrugged. "Not long. My boyfriend's been teaching me."

"Mr. Mystery? Dude," Virgil said, looking completely serious. "I might steal him from you if he cooks like this all the time. I don't care."

To his surprise, Richie began laughing so hard that it brought tears to his eyes. The blond was having trouble imagining his incredibly straight friend trying to seduce one of their long time arch enemies simply because his food had flavor.

"No, man," Richie gasped out when his laughter had eventually petered into giggles. "I really don't think you would. He's not your type."

Virgil handed his now empty plate to Richie, silently begging for more. The genius happily obliged.

"Yeah, you're probably right," he said, obviously joking about the whole thing. "So, uh, not tryin' to seem nosey but why didn't you head over to _**his **_place last night? You guys are serious enough, right? And I'm sure he would have-" Virgil dropped his voice a couple of octaves suggestively, "-comforted you."

Richie rolled his eyes over his shoulder. "Maybe because I don't have a key to his apartment?"

"Coulda knocked."

"At three in the morning?"

Virgil shrugged. "Sure, why not?"

The blond shook his head in exasperation. "Well, _**Verge**_," he said, turning to flash a mocking smile.

"Maybe he's not really the sensitive type and would have just felt awkward if I'd just shown up crying. Maybe, he offered the kind of comfort you're talking about when I texted him about this last night but I didn't want _**that**_ kind of comfort at _**that**_ point. And, maybe," Richie declared, setting the refilled plate on the table, "now that I've calmed down a bit and talked it out, I _**do**_ want the kind of comfort he wants to give."

A sudden buzzing sound came from the blond's pant pocket, spooking him out of his heated rant and beckoning him to fish out his phone (which now had a lock on it, thank you very much.) After typing in his password, the banner on the screen read that he had a new text message.

'_You ok?' –FStop_

Richie smiled and texted:

'_I am now. Still at Virgil's. I made him my spaghetti and he flipped out :D' –richierich~_

'_Yeah? Better bring some, babe. Starving…for the spaghetti too ;)' –FStop_

"Whossat?" Virgil asked, his mouth stuffed with food yet again.

"Dude, you're gonna get sick. Slow down," Richie scolded nervously. "It's just my Mr. Mystery. He asked me to bring him some of this when I head up there. Do you mind if I bounce?"

"Nah, man, 's you're life. You coming back later?" Virgil inquired over the clatter of Tupperware.

"Most likely. I don't think I should see my dad just yet, but I'll probably swing by my house while he's at work to grab some stuff I forgot." Richie undid the drawstrings of Sharon's apron.

"Keep it," the ravanette all but pleaded when Richie tried to place it on the table. "Lord knows Sharon has absolutely no idea how to use it. Maybe if she can't find it, she'll stop trying to poison me."

Richie laughed and was out the door with his jacket, container of pasta and new-to-him apron in minutes.

It was about this time when Sharon poked her head into the kitchen. "What's that smell?"


	2. Belt

(Strong T or Mild M)

* * *

Another smack filled the room accompanied by a loud curse as leather met the skin of Francis Stone's ass for the sixth time. It's normally even expanse of bisque flesh was now riddled with welts, turning an angry shade of red and well on it's way to bruising.

"What did I tell you, Frankie?" asked an even voiced Richie from behind his bound, pant-less lover of three months. He nonchalantly examined the material of the belt being used to implement Frankie's punishment while he waited for a response.

"Fuck you, Foley!" he snarled. "I'm a fucking badass villain who doesn't take orders from anyone! Especially not pretty boy geeks!"

Even in his compromising position, hands and ankles locked in high-tech cuffs against the wall of an underground portion of the Static/Gear headquarters with cheeks exposed and ready for whipping, Frankie retained his usual pride and ferocity.

"Wrong answer."

Francis threw his head back as pain shot across his flesh where the belt struck him yet again. Tears began to prick in the corners of his emerald eyes.

"What did I tell you?" Richie asked a second time. His tone making it clear that he would not ask a third.

Frankie grit his teeth so hard out of rage and pain that he thought they might chip. "To not get…thrown in jail, or…you'd punish me," he ground out.

"Right. And what was the first thing you did after we had that little talk?"

"That's not even right, Foley! You were one of the ones who got me thrown in there!"

Richie brought the belt down on him again, this time dangerously close to his balls, effectively shutting Francis up.

"No, Frankie. You are. I'm a hero and I can't go easy on you when you commit a major crime just because we're dating."

He ran the tips of his free hand's fingers across his handiwork and could hear a repressed whimper from the larger man.

"The fact is, I'm not asking you to become good or anything, just to not get thrown in prison. I hardly think that's asking for much." His digits continued to wander over the incredibly sensitive area. "And do you know why?"

Frankie had to focus on keeping his voice from conveying just how much Richie's touches hurt. "Why? So your job's easier?"

Richie's hand stilled. Those words hit him deep and he realized that his motive in doing all this wasn't getting through. He pulled his hand back.

Frankie was confused by the sudden lack of movement, trying to turn and see just what the blond was doing when he found his lips captured tenderly. He was kissed and kissed and kissed, slowly, softly, until both men had to surface for air, breaking the first kiss they'd shared in nearly two months.

Richie could clearly see just how much Frankie had enjoyed the kiss once they moved apart, his previously flaccid member now standing tall and proud between his legs. He was in a similar predicament himself.

Quietly, Richie explained. "I don't want you in prison for two reasons. One, I'm worried about the experiments they tend to perform on Bang Babies in there." He cupped Frankie's face in his palms, feeling the prick of stubble around the redhead's strong jaw. "You're one of the most powerful they know of and I don't want you coming out a different person than when you went in. I like hotheaded Frankie."

Francis preened under the gentle touches and caring words from the blond genius, seeing sincerity in his sky blue eyes.

"Two," he breathed, dragging steady, calloused hands from Frankie's chin, to his broad chest, to the twitching muscles of his flat stomach. "I can't wait for months on end to have you balls deep inside me."

Francis found his restrains hissing and releasing him from their grip, probably via an unseen cue from their creator.

"Now, thanks to you, we have seven weeks of fucking to catch up on."


	3. Boxing Gloves

Boxing Gloves (Mild T)

* * *

The Bang Baby known as Hotstreak threw another hard right at the defenseless punching bag in front of him. Stance strong and gloved guards up, Frankie dealt punch after frustrated punch without any end in sight. The only sign of fatigue was the occasional bead of sweat that trickled down his masculine face and back where it absorbed into his white wife beater.

Regular patrons of the Kilmer Training Gym scurried away from his general line of sight and swing range as fast as possible. The teen was infamous for his rage and most knew exactly how dangerous it was to be on the business end of those fevered punches, flaming or not.

If anyone had been brave or stupid enough to get close to the redhead in this state, they'd have heard annoyed grumbles between grunts and jabs.

Suddenly, his hands caught fire, disintegrating his rental boxing gloves, melting a hole straight through the bag's plastic lining and spilling sand all over the once clean floor.

"Francis!" shouted a large greying man with a salt and pepper goatee and an intimidating physique from across the gym's floor. "You're paying for all that stuff! Grab a broom!"

To the surprise of newbie onlookers and the knowing chagrin of the more seasoned athletes, Hotstreak did just as the man asked.

"Sorry Colonel," Frankie apologized as he darted past, his previous workout only serving to boost his speed. Coming to a quick stop, he fumbled around in the janitor's closet before he found a very familiar broom and dustpan.

"Get to it!" the Colonel boomed unnecessarily loud, kicking Frankie's already brisk steps into overdrive. "And everyone else! It's 10:30, we're closed! Don't hafta go home, can't stay here!"

The effect of his words were almost instant. Roughly 200 burly gym members returned their equipment to their original stands and start positions, grabbed their belongings and were out into the night before former Colonel Kilmer's watch read 10:45.

The sound of a normally busy building suddenly going silent rang in that weird way a lack of sound does, only interrupted by the occasional scraping of Frankie's borrowed broom.

"You missed a spot, Francis," the Colonel pointed out as he took a seat, near the mess, in one of the red plastic chairs lining the mirrored wall. A sigh of relief passed his lips as he crossed his muscular, tanned legs right over left and promptly cracked his knuckles.

"Yessir."

Ex-Colonel Tony Kilmer waited a few minutes before asking, "What's wrong, kid?"

Frankie hardly reacted. Rather, he kept his eyes on his work.

"Nothing's wrong."

"Don't gimme that, squirt. You only get destructive in my place when you don't concentrate on keeping yourself in check. Been that way since you could first throw a punch. And the only time you can't concentrate is when something's bothering you. So, spill.

"No," came a snappish reply. "With all due respect, Colonel, it's none of your business."

"It's _**always**_ my business!" the man growled, knocking over his chair as he got to his feet and grabbed a handful of Frankie's sweaty wife beater. The sound of the broom clattering to the ground was harsh in the relative silence. Though both men were of equal height, it was obvious who was superior between the two of them. "Especially when you go ruining my personal property and scaring away potential regulars with that Bang Baby shit of yours!"

Frankie flinched away, not wanting to meet his uncle's angry stare. "I can't tell you! You'll see me as less of a man!"

At this, Frankie's shirt was slowly released. A loud sigh came from the Colonel.

"Francis," he said. "A real man knows when to ask for advice. Despite what most say, it's not good to keep things bottled up."

He bent down to retrieve the plastic broom from the aged linoleum and shoved it back into Frankie's empty hands. "Fitness is a good way to cool down but, eventually, you have to tell someone."

The older man crossed his large arms over his chest, demanding, now, rather than asking. "Spill."

Frankie remained silent for another minute before he gave in. "I think I'm falling for someone." He admitted, blushing a bit and trained his gaze on a sand covered patch of floor.

Brown eyes blinked incredulously at the teenager. "You?" The Colonel questioned. "I thought you were the use 'em and lose 'em type."

Frankie's blush darkened. "Yeah, well, not with this one."

The redhead was surprised to hear a hearty laugh come from his uncle and to find the Colonel's bigger, more beefy hands suddenly placed atop his sweat dampened shoulders.

"No shit! Well, that's great, Francis! Why on earth would you think that loving a woman would make you seem like any less of a man?"

Frankie continued to avert his eyes. "Because...," he swallowed thickly. "It's…not."

A full, grey eyebrow raised in a show of confusion. "Love? But you just-,"

"A woman," Hotstreak corrected.

The building returned to its previous stillness. Neither of its only two inhabitants daring to speak or move.

Finally, it was the Colonel who broke the pregnant pause that hung uncomfortably in the air between them. "O-oh. Is that so?"

"Yeah," Frankie affirmed succinctly, clearly ashamed and embarrassed. "Can I get back to sweeping now?"

Colonel Kilmer released his nephew's broad shoulders and allowed him to continue cleaning. The man was at a complete loss. "How in the hell'd _**that**_ happen?" he asked, not caring if it seemed rude.

Frankie sighed, but didn't stop sweeping. "Dunno. He kinda just grew on me. Never thought it would happen, but it did." He finally collected a majority of the mess into a single pile.

About to bend and grab the dustpan, his uncle's leg blocked his hand's path. "So, why are you so bothered by this?" Tony questioned.

Emerald eyes blinked up at the burly man. "Didn't you hear what I said?"

The Colonel scowled. "Don't get smart with me, runt! I'm tryin' to help. What about falling for this guy has you so upset?"

The redhead seemed confused. "I don't know. Everything? The fact that I might be in love? The fact that it's a guy and I'm not gay? The fact that he's way below me on the social ladder and a total geek that I've known for years? How could I _**not**_ be upset, Colonel!?"

"Have you told him?"

"What?"

"You make me repeat myself one more time…have you _**told**_ him?"

Frankie looked at him like he was insane. "Why would I do that?"

It was the Colonel's turn to shoot a look. "Were you just gonna ignore it until you destroyed everything in my gym?"

Frankie scratched the back of his neck in exasperation. "I don't know. Honestly, he'd probably think I was messing with him. I don't exactly treat him the best."

"And why's that?"

Frankie scowled. "Cuz he hangs out with this loser, Hawkins. And I can't just leave him alone. I have a reputation…"

"That is the shittiest excuse I've ever heard!" The Colonel yelled, getting in Frankie's face.

"You're telling me that you treat a person who you claim to love like garbage just because you don't like his _**friend**_!? That you're throwing a pity party and holding the frustrations _**you**_ created inside yourself until they become dangerously destructive because you think you'll be rejected by someone who, by all means, should turn you down _**flat**_!?"

The older man's fist connected painfully with Frankie's jaw before the teen knew what was happening, causing him to see stars and fall into the collected mound of sand.

"No wonder you didn't want to tell me!" Colonel Kilmer growled down to his nephew. "It's not that you might be gay or bi or whatever! It's that you really _**aren't**_ a man with that kind of behavior!"

Frankie's eyes were wide with his hand moving his jaw around, confirming it to not be broken.

"_**If**_ you can make this thing right and come clean to your man, _**maybe**_ I'll come to acknowledge you as a man again. Until then, you're outta here permanently once you're done cleaning up that mess."

Frankie scrambled to finish, his cheek beginning to swell but a flame of determination burned in his chest.

The Colonel leisurely walked to the front doors, dropping the building's keys on the reception desk as he passed.

"Lock up, would ya? I'm tired. I'll see ya at home," he called over his shoulder. Though he didn't receive a reply, he knew that his nephew would do as he was asked. About the mess, the doors, _**and**_ his love interest.

"Tough love is still love," the Colonel mused to himself, smiling, after he heard the glass doors gently shut behind him.


	4. BraceCollar

Brace (K+)

* * *

"How?" Frankie asked, gesturing toward the black mound of cloth and Velcro that encased the blond's right wrist and hand to encourage healing.

From his seat on their old, beat up couch, Richie shrugged, embarrassed. "I don't know, it just happened." A blush tinted his pale cheeks a gentle red.

"But how could it be sprained when you were only typing _**code**_?" Francis demanded to know, still dumbfounded. "Are you sure it's not just a bad case of carpal tunnel?"

"Nope. Doc says it's a sprain for sure," the tech wizard clarified. "Of course I didn't tell the doctor _**why**_ I'd thought it was sprained, but…wait, what are you doing?"

Frankie began steadily slapping his open palm against his intensely frowning face with no end in sight. Just how much of a fucking _**dork**_ was he dating!?

Collar (K)

* * *

"Who's F.S.?" Static asked his partner, Gear, late one night as they sat outside a warehouse downtown, waiting to implement a sting.

Richie lowered his binoculars and looked for all intents and purposes like a deer in the headlights. "What?"

"Property of F.S. It's on that necklace thing you've been wearing lately," Virgil clarified, pointing to the aforementioned jewelry for emphasis. It was a sort of loose choker made of black silk ribbon with a simple, circular golden tag hanging from the center. The blond brought his hand up to the top of his suit to tuck it barely out of sight again.

Richie realized just how stupid it was to think that his friend hadn't noticed simply because he hadn't brought it up. Of course Virgil had noticed! He'd probably been wanting to ask for days but had thought it'd be rude.

And it was.

Good to know he'd gotten over that.

"You know, Verge," Richie mumbled, blushing. "I'd rather not talk about it."

Static's face suddenly lit up with a million watt grin. "No way, dude! Your girlfriend?"

Gear's blush darkened and he tried to rub the back of his head until he remembered he was wearing a helmet and touched metal, awkwardly, instead of hair.

"Yeah, kinda," he partially lied. He'd told his friend that he was dating but still hadn't exactly gotten around to telling him that he was not only gay, but dating one of Dakota's Most Wanted Bang Babies.

Virgil would have laughed out loud had stealth not been key to their mission at the moment, but definite snickers were heard.

"Oh man!" he whispered. "You don't strike me as the whipped type, but…," the teen mimicked an exaggerated whipping motion, making Richie's face come to resemble a ripe tomato. Finally, he gave in an explained.

"Look, this is better than what she wanted to do initially. See…," he let his gaze wander to the side. "She's really possessive."

"And?" Virgil prompted, still grinning.

"She wanted to brand her name onto me," Richie admitted.

He'd been flattered when Frankie had suggested it, knowing just how much symbolism there would be in having his lover's personal flames mark him permanently, no matter how small.

But Richie's rational side had kicked in just before his hopeless romantic side went wild. It would hurt. How would he explain it to people who saw? They wouldn't understand.

Frankie had said that those reasons didn't matter. Pain wasn't forever and all others would never understand just how much they loved each other, but the blond had remained steadfast in his decision. He had promised that, in the future, when everyone important to him had found out about their relationship and accepted it, he would love to be branded, but not now. Still, the pyropath had insisted on some form of ownership to be evident so that the blond wouldn't forget who owned him.

"I was going to do it, too, but decided to hold off for a bit. It took a lot of convincing for her to settle for this instead."

Virgil frowned nervously, looking decidedly less amused than he had moments before. "Dude, what kinda relationship are you in?"

"A very serious, kinky one," Richie said, smiling. "And I love it that way."


End file.
